When I told my brother I’d been diagnosed with breast cancer he responded just as I knew he would: “Man, you got this. This shit ain’t gonna beat you. Imma holla at God tonight, tell him to take care of my big sister and you gonna be straight.”
And that was that. I knew I would be fine because my baby brother said so.
Even though I am 7 years and 6 months older than my brother, even though I cooked his breakfast on the weekends, taught him how to tie his shoes and helped him with homework, in some ways he has taken care of me as much as I’ve helped take care of him.